


Unexpected

by strings_mug_water



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gay, M/M, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 23:00:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18647869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strings_mug_water/pseuds/strings_mug_water
Summary: Sherlock… Finally someone in Moriarty’s size, not literally of course. Damn he was so sexy back then at the pool. Moriarty still felt arousal rising when he thought about the moment Sherlock lowered the gun onto the bomb. He wondered how it would have felt. His blood, mixed with the one of the master detective. Two consultants, one for crime and one for solving it, united in an explosion of heat and fire. Oh yeah, in his own twisted way, Moriarty definitely had a crush on Sherlock. Why else would he let this man get stalked like crazy? Sherlock was his first real opponent, his game partner.And he was the reason why it all collapsed.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I realised that we definitely lack some Sheriarty content. And I’m procrastinating. Pray for me passing my IT exam…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINNNGGGGG  
> there's mentioning of rape and violence in here, take care :*

“We need to talk.”

“Not now Sebastian. Don’t you see that I’m busy?”

The Colonel grit his teeth as Moriarty did not even look up from arranging his letter shaped cornflakes.

“It’s important,” he tried again.

“Yes it is.”

Sebastian had the strange feeling that they had meant different things, because Moriarty continued giving his full attention to the food in front of him. Sebastian took a closer look. His boss and long-time secret crush was fastidiously spelling out ‘William Sherlock Scott Holmes’ out of his cornflakes all over the table, again and again. Enough is enough.

“Do you even realize what you’re doing anymore? All you care about is your bloody fun with your pet detective, you don’t even see what’s happening right under your nose!! I just came from a meeting with the Asian front, and guess who was the only one missing? Jim, they are speaking of candidates for a new lead. When will you finally wake up and see that this is not just one of your stupid games!! We’re losing clients on a daily basis, and thanks to your Sherlock, mostly to the police. You have to understand, they are angry. They think you got sloppy. I… I’m worried about you.”

Throughout this whole Monologue Moriarty had not moved a single inch. He was still staring at the colourful corn letters in front of him and ignoring Sebastian.

“Jim… I… I can’t do this anymore. Either way you end this or I’ll do it.”

“You are a smart man Sebastian.”

Still not lifting his head Moriarty continued, “I taught you everything I know. You are my right hand. I trust you.”

Sebastian swallowed hard. He didn’t know where his boss was going with that behaviour and normally that was an indicator of danger. Suddenly Moriarty aggressively wiped all the cornflakes off the table and then jumped on his feet just an inch away from Sebastian.

“Can I trust you?”

That said he crushed the remaining cornflakes in his hand, dropping the crumbs to their feet. Sebastian was too distracted by the sudden and immediate proximity of Jim that he suffered from a brief loss of words. And that was his mistake. Of course Jim had to take Sebastian’s hesitation the completely wrong way. His face turned cold.

“Jim, no. You don’t understand, I only want to protect you.”

Moriarty turned around and went towards the door of his office.

It was this one last bit of ignorance that caused Sebastian to finally lose his patience.

“Why do you always have to be so selfish?? All you can think about is Sherlock here Sherlock there. Who is the one always picking you up from the ground? Who is the one making sure the business runs even when you rather spend your time playing with food?? I’ve always been there for you, did everything you said without a single question or complaint!! And all I get back from you is mistrust and ignorance. I can’t take it anymore. You sick bastard with your all-so-interesting detective. Open your eyes Jim. He’s never going to like you.”

With every word Sebastian came closer until Moriarty hit some piece of furniture behind him, suddenly the evil mastermind realised how tall the other one was compared to him.

Sebastian continued, now in a calmer, but far more dangerous way, “I’ve been working for you for seven years. Now it’s time for my payment.”

It rarely occurred that Moriarty was scared, normally life was a game to him and death just simply losing it, but something in the eyes of the only man he had trusted up to this moment made every hair of him stand up.

With one quick movement Sebastian forcefully took Moriarty’s face into his hands and crashed his lips on his boss’ ones. Moriarty himself was too startled to even move a single muscle, what Sebastian took as agreement. He pushed the petrified man onto the next wall with his much taller and stronger body. When he leaned in for another kiss, Moriarty found his voice again.

“What the fuck!!”

He tried pushing Sebastian away but his arms were like two steel bars caging him from both sides.

“Sebastian…”

At this point Moriarty new he had lost. The slight tremble in his voice disclosed the fear that just Sebastian new did exist.

“Shut up.”

One of Sebastian’s hands grabbed around Moriarty’s throat, while he forced another kiss on him. Unable to breathe or turn away, Moriarty gasped for air, what Sebastian utilized to stick his tongue down his throat. Nausea was rising inside the caged criminal so he did the only thing he was able to – he bit. It was Sebastian’s luck that Moriarty was still suffering from a heavy lack of oxygen, otherwise he would have lost his tongue if it was for the psychopath.

“You little slut!”

Something really hard collided with Moriarty’s temple and for a brief moment everything turned black in front of his eyes. The next moment Sebastian already violently turned him around and slammed his face onto the wall.

“Dirty little tease, you think you can bite me?”

A warm fluid started dropping rapidly into Moriarty’s eye, but that wasn’t his major problem at the time. The other hand of Sebastian that wasn’t choking him suddenly grabbed around his waist and got hold of his crotch. A shocked sigh escaped Moriarty’s mouth. Sebastian used the whole force of his body to press the other one to the wall.

“Not happy, Jim? Let me help you with that.”

When Sebastian shifted his weight a bit and started opening Moriarty’s belt, he lost it.

With a new kick of adrenaline and rage shooting through his veins, Moriarty managed to release an arm, which he kicked into Sebastian’s side with all his strength. It wasn’t much to impress the colonel, but enough of the distraction he needed. Moriarty found some hair and while pulling his own head out of the way, he smashed Sebastian’s at the wall where it collided with a disgusting crack. There was no time to lose. While Sebastian was still crumping unconsciously on the ground Moriarty sprinted to his desk where he quickly pulled out a gun.

He made his way back over to the bleeding mess on the floor that used to be his only intimate.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t do it.”

The half-conscious Sebastian only gave his boss a bloody smile, “do it.”

With one loud shot ringing though the air Sebastian’s head fell to the side.

And now Moriarty was left alone. Again. He slowly lifted the gun, stained with the mixed blood of him the only one he had trusted.


	2. Chapter I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING  
> suicidal stuff and blood (it get's less dirty after this one tho)

Sherlock and John were just coming home after closing their latest investigation. John could barely wait to write down all this uninteresting nonsense of family mess. Sherlock was too annoyed by the human nature of his latest employee to notice the obvious signs in the stairwell, only when they entered the flat, Sherlock froze.

“Someone’s been in here.”

Smell. Unknown scent. Extraordinary. Male. Somehow familiar… bur from where…

Coffee table is slightly out of place. Someone bumped into it. Careless or fast Intruder.

Blood. On his violin. wait. Interesting. Trail on carpet confirming the path to the fireplace.

Sherlock laid down on the ground to inspect the drops of dark liquid. Fresh. Too fresh.

“I think he might still be here.”

Alarmed, John pulled out his gun.

The drops led to the kitchen that the two men carefully entered now.

Counter. Handprints. Weak, but not dangerously injured.

Sherlock froze in his motions again. Without a noise he pointed at the knife block. Watson immediately noticed and understood the empty slot. Someone had taken a knife. And much to their misfortune, John had the habit of keeping those sharp like a razor blade.

The detective quickly signified John to check his bedroom, while he would take the bathroom. Of course John had not noticed the obvious signs leading to the bathroom, but their recent case would lead to the conclusion that the intruder’s aim was Sherlock, so he preferred John out of the line of fire for now.

The scent of the strange, but familiar perfume, mixed with blood grew heavier as the detective approached the bathroom door that he now slowly opened.

The scene that was presented in the small room was even for the experienced detective a surprise.

A small body was lying in the bathtub in an increasingly growing puddle of red.

Knife. Safe out of the bathtub. Bloody.

Person unconscious. Wrists.. slit. Still bleeding heavily. The man could not have lied there for very long. In fact he still must be alive.

Sherlock rushed towards the limp body and as he kneeled down the face of the burglar became visible.

This definitely was the last thing Sherlock had expected.

Unconscious, bruised and soaked in his own blood laid the criminal nemesis of Sherlock.

James Moriarty.

It was a split second that Sherlock needed to decide. Moriarty was still alive. He seemed to have tried to kill himself. Sherlock could let him bleed out and he would have won their game. The big Moriarty would vanish from the streets of London. That was when Sherlock noticed the message. With his own blood, Moriarty had written a note on the tiles above the bathtub, just before he must have passed out… dramatic diva.

‘CONGRATULATIONS’

His decision was made.

“JOHN!”

Sherlock had already tied his scarf around Moriarty’s arms and lifted them in the air, when John entered the room with his weapon raised.

“Wh…”, was the only thing he was able to bring out at the absurd scenario, “This is…”

“I know”, Sherlock cut him off, “Get bandages, disinfection and your medical sewing kit.”

“We need to call an ambulance.”

“I’m pretty certain that would be his death, now GO!”

John winced at the harsh tone of his flatmate, but ran off to get the tools. Sherlock could not care less. Moriarty would not die. Not that easily. Not now. Not here.

Shortly after, John returned with everything they needed. The doctor had operated in many extraordinary situations during the war, not none had been as strange as this one. He stitched up their biggest enemy in their own bathtub. Still it all worked out. Much to their fortune, or better to Moriarty’s, the criminal had a far too dramatic attitude. Unless any smart suicide, he had not opened his veins with one long cut down every arm. No, Moriarty needed to be special. He had carved an S on his left and an H on his right forearm. This whole situation was far too absurd to be real.

It all looked good. Watson had been able to stop the bleeding and took care of the wound on Moriarty’s forehead, but he still was not sure if the criminal would make it.

“He lost too much blood Sherlock,” was the first thing John said in a long while.

Obviously the detective had come to the same result, he simply nodded and disinfected the crook of his arm.

“What are you doing there??”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“But you don’t even know his blood type!”

“But I know his chances. Go downstairs to Mrs. Hudson and get her blood thinner, then you need to produce saline solution.”

“Sherlock this is crazy.”

“0.9 percent or he will die, John.”

There was something in Sherlock’s eyes that John could not really decipher. This might be the worst man in the history of crime, but John had once sworn to protect and save every life.

When he came back with Mrs Hudson’s meds Sherlock was already injecting his blood into the wreck of a man in front of him.

“Quick.”

John gave Moriarty two pills and then rushed off to get the saline solution. It would have been impossible for him to create the perfect percentage, but thanks to his flatmate their kitchen was more of a laboratory.

“He looks good,” John said as he connected Moriarty to the extemporary infusion in some random plastic bag. Sherlock made no attempt to react in any way.

“So what are we going to do with him?”

Sherlock showed off in his typical thinking pose, putting his stained hands together and pressing them at his chin.

“He stays here. We have to keep it secret until we know more.”

“But this is Moriarty! The most dangerous man in England!”

“Oh John… He came here. Bruised everywhere and obviously beat up but not dangerously injured. Before he decided to rest in our bathroom, he first took a rather sentimental tour through our apartment and then decided to give up his life over just a beat up? I don’t think that Moriarty is the head of anything anymore.”

“So why don’t we give him to the police.”

“We all know that he had men among them and whoever took over his seat would be more than delighted to finish their work, don’t you think so. And I, personally, would much rather learn who they are and what happened. Until then James Moriarty stays and he stays alive.”

John might still not have been convinced, but Sherlock could also not tell him the truth. The thought of his one worthy opponent being finally dead scared the detective to his bones. John did sigh dramatically but agreed, “you clean up the bathroom.”

Both of them knew Sherlock would never clean it up, but it meant he had won.


	3. Chapter III

Sherlock, who had spent nearly the whole night now meditating over Moriarty's weak but steady breath, noticed right away when it changed.

So when the little man finally opened up his eyes just right a tiny bit, the detective was already at the side of his own bed, absorbing every even so tiny motion of Moriarty's face. He clearly wasn’t fully conscious yet, only after a while and what seemed like an endless number of extraordinary slow blinks, Moriarty's glance noticed the man standing over him. His eyes slowly made their way to his bandaged arms, then the injection of the blood Sherlock stole from the hospital and finally up to Sherlock's face, who wasn't quite prepared for what he saw that moment. That dangerous and insane psychopath was in tears. The rather unexpected reaction caused Sherlock to rethink his earlier prepared starts of conversation, or rather interrogation. Moriarty in the meantime used Sherlock's hesitation to regain enough strength to utter a weak whisper.

"Who thought I'd end up in your bed this way?"

Seemed like not much had changed on the narcissistic maniac's side.

"Why?"

It visibly took him a while to collect enough strength for another reply.

"You didn't text me," after an unnecessary and agonising long breath he continued, "after I gave you... my number."

Sherlock shortly asked himself why he had gone through all those troubles for that man, but his urge for solving the puzzle won, so he asked again, this time more precisely.

"Why did you come here?"

Was that an actual crocodile tear at the corner of Moriarty's eye?

"I wouldn't wanna mess up my own bathroom, right?"

Now there was no doubt anymore. Moriarty was crying. But Sherlock knew his acting skills far too well to buy it, even though Moriarty shouldn’t quite be in a constitution for that kind of trick. In general, nothing of this made any sense, even less than before.

"You should sleep," Sherlock eventually said. What both of them needed now was time, time to think.

"And don't you even consider messing with your bandages, I won't let you ruin my bedroom too," the detective added. There it was, a slight hint of a smile on Moriarty's face. Too exhausted for another of his comments the criminal practically closed his eyes on command and was drifted off a second later. Sherlock however did not even think of sleeping. Adopting his deeply focused thinking position he sat down on the kitchen chair that he had moved next to his bed.

What was going on here? And what was Moriarty's plan?

But the question that really haunted the depths of Sherlock's mind was - _did_ Moriarty have a plan?


	4. Chapter III

The next time Moriarty woke up, he was already surprisingly kind of stable. After staring at the mess of a man for more than a day now, Sherlock nearly pitied him, nearly.

“Good morning.”             

Moriarty’s eyes found Sherlock in his chair, situated in the far most corner of the room, pretending to browse through his computer, although he had spent the last minute carefully observing the waking criminal in his bed, that he longed to regain.

“Hello sweetie,” he greeted. Although he did his best to sound playful Sherlock sensed the weakness and anxiety radiating through the whole room. This was scary. Like visiting a soon-to-be-dead family member at the hospital.

“Sleeping well?”

Actually, Moriarty thought, he really enjoyed sleeping in Sherlock’s bed, not that he hadn’t done this before.

“You can call me sleeping beauty.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Ouch!”

Moriarty wanted to cover his opened mouth in played surprise, just that as soon as he moved his arm the Irishman winced in pain.

“Better be careful,” Sherlock said with a frown. To not sound too caring he added, “I don’t want the trouble of changing your bandages just yet.”

“How sweet of you. I guess I also have to thank Watson for this?” Moriarty asked in clear disgust.

“You better.”

He let out an annoyed moan, the first thing that nearly brought a smirk onto Sherlock’s face.

“Sherly, I’m afraid as a victim to my momentary circumstances I must ask a favour of you.”

Sherlock frowned.

“Would you help me up?”

Moriarty tried saying it in a flirty tone of voice to cover up the fact that he in fact was too weak to move on his own. How embarrassing. Once again he really wished he was dead, although some of the recent events (being in Sherlock’s bedroom) were quite enjoyable.

“Why?”

Moriarty shortly considered ripping off his bandages.

“I would like to use your bathroom,” he squeezed out.

Sherlock’s mouth formed a surprised ‘O’ and thank god he got up without further mocking, to awkwardly stand next to the bed. Just now Moriarty checked out what he was wearing. A striped cotton pyjama. From Dr Watson by no doubt. Dear Lord or Satan or whatever, please kill me.

“How did I end up in Watson’s pyjamas by the way?” he asked while concealing the enormous pains in his arms when pushing back the covers on top of him, smelling like Sherlock…

“We drew straws,” was all Sherlock replied. In fact it was him who carried Moriarty into his room and undressed and washed him… while John cleaned the bathroom.

That memory was buried deep dark in his mind palace not to be ever seen at daylight again, maybe at night... what no. Sherlock realised he had been drifting off when Moriarty stared up to him with a knowing grin. To avoid the situation he pulled him up rather quickly, only to be sorry for that a second later when Moriarty’s feet had not been prepared yet to carry some weight and he fell into Sherlock’s arms like a doll. Awkward. Very awkward.

As soon as Moriarty looked like he would not fall down any second Sherlock pushed him back a step, still holding his shoulders though. There was a thin layer of sweat covering the smaller man’s forehead and although he tried, his smile looked rather agonized.

It was a torturous long journey with lots of embarrassing body contact and resulting physical and, on Sherlock’s side, mental pain. Finally they stood next to the toilet, both avoiding each other’s gaze.

“I suppose I can handle the rest on my own,” Moriarty said.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him and replied, “you expect me to leave you, _here_?”

Moriarty rolled his eyes amusedly.

“So that’s your kink, Sherly?”

The red-cheeked Sherlock ended up leaving the bathroom until Moriarty called him in again, so that they could make the unbelievably long way back to Sherlock’s bedroom.

In the meantime Sherlock had heated up some canned soup he found and made tea for both of them. So when Moriarty was back in Sherlock’s bed (sigh), looking worryingly pale and sweaty, they had a small snack.

“Thanks,” Moriarty whispered when Sherlock handed him a straw to his soup because he had noticed how painful every movement was for the criminal… and he would not let himself down to feeding his enemy.

“Will you tell me eventually what brought you here? I mean into this situation,” Sherlock tried starting that conversation again, trying to avoid staring at the explicit hand print bruise on Moriarty’s neck. For once Moriarty had no clever answer and Sherlock was met with silence.

“Why did you keep me… here,” Moriarty eventually asked back silently, implying two meanings at once.

“You should get some more rest,” Sherlock avoided him and collected the dishes. For now Moriarty had successfully sidestepped that question again.


	5. Chapter IV

It was around three in the night, Sherlock had for once fallen asleep after an exhausting evening filled with a kind of restlessness, which’s origin Sherlock refused to and could not think about. At least John had left to sleep pretty early, pissed about Sherlock’s mood.

The detective’s well deserved sleep was brutally disturbed by a blood freezing scream. Sherlock jolted himself up in an instant. Another scream. It was coming… from his own bedroom. Without hesitation Sherlock stormed off, ready to fight whatever he would find in there. He pushed open the door and found a dark room.

There was no intruder, no fight. And yet another terrifying scream. It was Moriarty… it seemed like he was screaming... in his sleep.

“Sherlock, what’s going on?” John’s voice appeared from behind. The doctor was still in his pyjamas but as awake as Sherlock and holding a loaded gun. Both of them winced at another one of Moriarty’s loud disturbances of the night.

“It’s fine. He’s… dreaming I guess. I’ll take care of it.”

John looked rather confused but nodded and disappeared into his room again, giving Sherlock the space that he knew he needed.

Sherlock himself went towards the moaning, tossing and turning Moriarty. What now.

“Moriarty.”

The silly attempt did not quite bring any result with it.

“Moriarty!!” Sherlock tried again, this time louder. When this didn’t work either Sherlock started shaking Moriarty’s shoulder slightly what turned into rather forcefully until he finally woke up, gasping for air.

“You screamed.”

Even Sherlock had to admit that this probably hadn’t been the perfect address in that moment. Moriarty tried to sit up, only to quiver from the pain. He took a few shaky breaths then said, “Yes, I know. I guess I should have warned you.”

“Please tell me you don’t do that every night.”

“Unfortunately, I have proof that I most certainly do,” responding to Sherlock’ raised eyebrow he added, “I record myself at night for safety reasons.”

“This is weird.”

“I guess…”

Sherlock saw his chance in Moriarty’s sleepy mood to talk.

“What happened, Moriarty? You need to tell me.”

“You’re not gonna let this go, won’t you?”

With a sigh Moriarty patted on the free space next to him on the bed. Sherlock first hesitated but then gave in to the chance of information and sat down rather uncomfortably, glad about the space and blanket separating the two of them.

“I kinda let myself go recently. I had been so booored until our little game started. You were the first equal partner I had, you wouldn’t understand my joy. I was like a puppy playing with his new toy, so committed to the game that I forgot about certain other things. People started to notice. These pricks thought I showed weakness… Anyways, I got in a fight about it with my colonel.”

“Sabastian Moran.”

Sherlock did notice a sudden tenseness in Moriarty when he mentioned the name.

“Someone did their homework. Good boy. That piece of shit, Sebastian,” Moriarty practically spat out the name, “thought he could play boss. I taught him otherwise.”

“You killed him?”

“Unfortunately, way too fast.”

There was something off in Moriarty’s voice, it sounded choked. Although it was pretty dark in the room upon a quick scan Sherlock noticed that the heavy breathing of Moriarty might not be of rage. No crying again, please…

In a desperate attempt to distract the both of them Sherlock started telling the first thing that came to his mind.

“Remember the first time we met?”

“How could I, that was hard work arranging everything.”

“That underwear was priceless.”

A chuckle escaped from the man next to Sherlock, who pretended to ignore Moriarty wiping his nose.

“I mean have you ever been acting or what? The body language was masterly. I must admit until today I’m having a hard time acknowledging someone fooling me like that.”

“I’m not just someone.”

“Not you’re my significant annoyance…”

Now Moriarty laughed out freely. Internally Sherlock congratulated himself for achieving such intentional emotional impact on someone. Not to ruin it again, Sherlock lifted himself up.

“You should better try and sleep some more.”

When he had just reached the door he heard a soft “goodnight Sherlock” from behind.

“Goodnight Moriarty.”

“Jim please.”

Sherlock quietly closed the door. What was he doing? Moriarty… Jim wasn’t his friend… he was his strongest rival. And he was right. It was so much fun.


	6. Chapter V

The next day Jim already felt much better. After annoying the hell out of Sherlock (not mentioning last night’s events though) he finally convinced him to move to the living room for breakfast. It was quite a scene. The three men sat in a darkened room, the curtains closed to hide the fact the most wanted criminal of the country was having a tea inside. John barely took a bite, too mad and terrified about the whole situation. Sherlock had been moody the whole morning, although John did not suspect anything about last night, it was quite his normal behaviour. The only one that seemed to enjoy himself was Jim. He did his best to play down his poor state and in fact enjoyed the change of rooms really much (and the fact the he wore one of Sherlock’s morning robes over the ugly ass pyjama). Not that he didn’t appreciate Sherlock’s bedroom but it became so boring after observing every tiny detail for hours. And anyways, Sherlock had hidden everything interesting long ago.

To interrupt the growing silence John asked “So, how are you feeling, Moriarty?”

“Are you referring to my physical or psychological state?”

“Both I guess?”

Jim took a deep breath of annoyance.

“I just tried to kill myself, is that answer enough?”

“Uhmm… I suppose…”

“Is that your usual medical expertise?”

Sherlock chuckled, oh there was the Moriarty he loved to hate.

“Thank you, Sherlock,” John snapped like a huffy kid.

Sherlock made the mistake to look at Jim, like that both men couldn’t hold back a giggle anymore. The increasing blush on John’s face did not do any better at stopping them soon.

All John could do in the meantime was observing what was just happening in a state f disbelief. Moriarty and Sherlock... laughing together. Both. Laughing!! Something was going really wrong and John had a bad feeling that he would be the one suffering from their new growing morbid sympathy.

“Seems like you two love birds get along quite well. I’m going on a walk,” John said, taking his Jacket.

Sherlock caught up Jim’s raised eyebrow at the rather unusual activity for John and he explained, “he is seeing someone.”

“Ah yes, Mary right?” Jim asked.

Oher than the not really impressed Sherlock, John stared at the black haired man in paralysed shock. Oh how Moriarty loved seeing Sherlock’s little puppy like that, trying to _think_.

When John’s help seeking gaze wandered over to Sherlock the detective simply shrugged. There was nothing new to the fact that Jim had surveilled him and therefore all of Sherlock’s acquaintances too. Probably pretty mad, John stormed off without another word and Jim and Sherlock were left laughing, eating breakfast.


	7. Chapter VI

It had been a long day. When Jim wasn’t resting he constantly complained about Sherlock’s alleged advantage at the various games they played. Still both of them seemed to enjoy it, Sherlock especially because of having a significant opponent other than the sore looser Mycroft for once. Sherlock was still up, bored over the thought of being bored, when he heard it again. The scream. It scared him, although he would never admit it. For the sake of Mrs Hudson’s sleep, John spent the night at Mary’s, Sherlock decided to wake Jim again.

“Jim!!” Sherlock shook the already shaking figure awake. Jim’s eyes searched through the room in panic.  

“Are you okay?”

Jim slowly caught his hyperventilating breath and shook his head slightly.

Although every cell of his brain felt uncomfortable with it, Sherlock sat down on the corner of the bed, careful to keep a safe distance.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Just the usual, you must know it.”

Sherlock looked at him with confusion so Jim added, “Come on Sherlock, you can’t tell me that sociopathic brain of yours doesn’t hide some very dark roots. Who was it that turned you into this? Mummy? The evil uncle? No wait, Mycroft?”

“So it was your father,” Sherlock concluded.

“Ohhh, good. Lovely man, my daddy. He taught me a lot,” Jim laughed coldly, “maybe teaching me how to shoot was a mistake. How do you always say - I am a highly functional psychopath. Oh Sherlock aren’t we matching perfectly?”

Pretty concerned about his state, Sherlock reached out to take Jim’s pulse and scanned him, in order to see if he’s okay. As always the man was quite good at concealing whatever was going on, just. No, this can’t be. No. It’s dark. Stop it Sherlock. It looked like for a moment as if his pupils had dilated. And his pulse… no, he was simply still agitated from the dream, not Sherlock’s touch. Sherlock quickly pulled back his hand and got up.

At the door he turned around a last time, mistake. This time he was sure. Although Jim faced the other way his chest rose up and down way too fast and Sherlock could hear a shaky breath, he was crying.

The detective stood in the doorway, completely unsure of what to do.

As Jim realised Sherlock had noticed a sob escaped him. The former head of an empire of crime hated himself so much that moment. Sherlock had never been supposed to see… this. His fucking body acted completely on itself.

After what seemed like an eternity of paralysation Sherlock sat back onto the bed and reached out a hand to awkwardly touch Jim’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

In between two shaky breaths Jim pressed out, “I’m scared.”

After another uncomfortable moment of Sherlock not knowing what to do, Jim elaborated, “I keep seeing… him.”

“Sebastian.”

Jim nodded.

“That’s okay, he betrayed you…” Sherlock tried his best to comfort the other.

“No Sherlock,” Jim looked him in the eyes, “that bastard tried to rape me.”

For once Sherlock was speechless. He had not expected that…

Jim broke out in tears again. Sherlock wished John was here, he would know what to do, so Sherlock simply stroked Jim’s shoulder a bit and handed him a tissue from his nightstand.

Thank God he slowly calmed down. Sherlock took the chance to stand up, but Jim stopped him, “please, can you stay a bit?”

Sherlock sighted loudly. This situation couldn’t get worse anyways. He threw his dressing gown carelessly to the ground and lied down on the free side of the bed, still on top of the sheets though. Sherlock was probably as surprised about his own action as Jim, but at the moment he just wanted him to not start crying again.

None of them said a word until Jim eventually passed out from his exhausting outburst. Sherlock did not dare to move and as absurd it was, eventually he felt asleep next to the most dangerous man of England. He would make sure nobody would ever hear from that.


	8. Chapter VII

The next morning Sherlock woke up in his bed. In his bed. Ahhhh… Too fast for his cracking neck, he turned around his head just to find the other side of the bed empty.

What the… He jumped onto his feet, all senses awake in an instant. There were voices coming from the living room.

When he arrived there, Sherlock entered a rather interesting situation. Jim was standing at the fireplace, his hands raised in defeat while the one and only Mrs Hudson held a knife at his throat. Sherlock couldn’t stop himself from laughing at this hilarious situation, what turned the attention of the other two individuals towards him.

“Sherlock!!” Mrs Hudson cried out, “I found that snake in your living room!!”

“Ouch,” Moriarty interrupted her.                                  

“Everything’s fine Mrs Hudson. I can’t believe it either but he’s my guest.”

She looked at him like he had finally lost his mind completely.

“He is threatening you somehow, isn’t he?”

“I can guarantee you he’s annoying me, but nothing more. If you’d be so kind now to lower the knife?”

“But… where’s John?”

“He is with his girlfriend.”

That was too much for her. Mrs Hudson collapsed onto the next chair.

“Girlfriend? What happened between you two, oh no - not you!!” she sighted pointing with her knife at the now slightly amused Moriarty. Sherlock moaned loudly, “How many times, Mrs Hudson…”

“Oh Sherlock, what’s going on?”

“I haven’t quite figured it out yet, to be honest.”

She raised herself from the chair and came closer to Sherlock until she was only inches away from his face.

“Tell me that you’re okay.”

“Everything’s okay. I’m perfectly fine and John is too.”

“And… he?” she asked nodding towards Moriarty who seemed far too amused by the events.

“He’s under my protection for now.”

Mrs Hudson precisely inspected Sherlock’s face one more time and seemed to find no sign of doubts at his honesty.

“If that’s the case, I’ll make you some breakfast,” she said still agitated, “you can’t host a guest in that… _kitchen_.”

“Thank you Mrs Hudson.”

“This is an exception! You two are way too skinny from chasing each other all the time.”

With another angry glance towards Jim she left.

“She’s such a charming woman,” he giggled.

“What the hell did you think, leaving the bed on your own?” Sherlock asked.

Jim shrugged.

“I’ve been hungry and thought I’d look for some edibles, with poor luck.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“By the way,” Jim added, “thanks, you know for defending me and so on…”

Sherlock cleared his throat.

“You’re welcome.”

Then he quickly disappeared into the kitchen to find some clean tableware.


	9. Chapter VIII

“Seriously?”

“Believe me, I could think of better ways to spend my time,” Sherlock shot back annoyed, “but I don’t want to carry you out of there once again.”

Ouch, that one had been below the punchline. They were in a somehow heated argument over Jim wanting to take a shower only that Sherlock insisted on helping him. Not gonna happen, just at the thought of it Jim could feel himself… doesn’t matter.

“You can just tell me if you want to undress me, Sherly,” he mocked Sherlock, knowing that his _Virgin_ would back down at his straight-forward tease. Jim earned himself a cold gaze, but knew he had won.

“I’m going to get you some towels and clothes.”

“Not one of John’s pyjamas, please!”

He got the most ugly sweatpants and shirt of Watson that Sherlock could find.

 

After a long time of Jim circuitously and not successfully trying to take a shower without wetting his bandages, he at least smelled like a human being again. The two flatmates really could need a visit of his charlady.

When Jim entered the living room again Sherlock had already prepared new bandages, his good ahead thinking boy. He sat down without a word and Sherlock, seeming to be still pouting, silently started undoing the wet and old bandages. Jim watched the long fingers of Sherlock doing their work, it had something beautiful about it, but only until he laid bare the first arm. Jim swallowed hard. It had healed quite well for the short amount of time. A scarlet red ‘H’ was forever carved into Jim’s usually flawless skin. He was mad at himself for being so overly dramatic all the time and carving Sherlock’s initials onto his arms. As if the whole situation hadn’t been embarrassing enough. At least Sherlock showed enough tactfulness to not say anything.

A while later a soft touch on his upper arm ripped Jim out of his deep thoughts. Sherlock looked like he expected something.

“What?”

“I just asked whether it’s okay that way.”

It took Jim another moment to realize he had meant the already finished bandages. Jim twisted his arms carefully and a sharp pain shot them up. Bad idea.

“Yes, seems fine.”

He caught up Sherlock’s gaze.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what,” Sherlock asked.

“Like you pity me.”

Sherlock considered it a while.

“Sorry. You worry me.”

“Did I hear that right? Where’s the high functional sociopath?”

“Where’s the high functional psychopath?”

Jim chuckled a bit.

“To be honest, I don’t know.”

And suddenly it all burst out of him.

“I made such a huge fucking mistake, for once I didn’t pay enough attention. I should have seen it coming, but you, Sherlock, you messed with my head. You distracted me. You… I fucked up.“

Moriarty could feel something twisting and twitching inside, he shook his head to get rid of the rising rage.

“I’m not functioning around you.”

Moriarty took another deep breath swallowing what brewed up inside of him.

“You lost, Jim,“ the impression in his face showed Sherlock that this probably didn’t come along he right way, “but, just one battle, not the war.”

“What horrible facebook comment was that?”

“Jesus, I don’t know what to do either. Day’s ago I was wishing you dead and now I’m nursing you? Damn it Jim. I have not the faintest of an idea what’s going on here either.”

Suddenly Jim laughed out.

“What?” Sherlock madly asked.

“You know, I thought we two were the smartest people I know, but maybe,” he was shaking from laughter, “we should consult your brother.”

“You’re an arse, Jim.”

Sherlock could not help himself but smile. Apart from being a mass murdering maniac Jim was kind of really entertaining.

“And now?”

Jim shrugged, “Rematch of Cluedo?”

 

 

Jim was already half asleep when the bedroom door opened. In it a wet haired Sherlock appeared, wearing a baggy t-shirt and pyjama pants. Jim’s heart skipped a beat. What cruel god was doing that to him?

“The sofa is hell,” was everything Sherlock said when he laid down with a separate blanket, as far away as possible.

Jim would not shut one eye that night…. A few minutes later he was deeply asleep, and for once there was no need for Sherlock to stop him from screaming in his sleep. Although Jim would deny that until his dying day.


	10. Chapter IX

“Exquisite!” Jim called out.

After days of cheap take out and microwave food he had decided to prepare an edible meal. It had taken him three days until he had convinced John and Sherlock. But as soon as Jim had broken Sherlock’s childish stubbornness with his constant complaints about the state of the lab/kitchen, John also gave in and agreed to run the errands.

“We’re ready, boys!”

Sherlock moaned, visibly glad to finally be released from Chef Moriarty’s cooking show. Jim was still not in a state of handling everything on his own, so Sherlock and John had to do the cutting and everything, also Mommy Sherlock wouldn’t let Jim touch a knife on his own.

“Time to eat,” Jim play- and joyfully shouted, slapping Sherlock’s ass when passing him with a bottle of halfway acceptable wine. The looks on the other two’s faces were priceless! Jim couldn’t remember when he had last been in such a great mood, could you get high from food steams?

They all sat down and Sherlock, finally remembering how to move, poured them the wine, until he reached Moriarty’s glass and John loudly cleared his throat.

“I don’t think you should consume alcohol in your state.”

Moriarty stared at the doctor for a while, pondering about that he would have normally killed anyone who dared to say that to his face.

“Right,” Sherlock approved and quickly filled Jim’s glass with water, who stared at it sadly.

“You’re lucky to be on my good side, Watson… Anyways,” he continued cheerful again, “one of the reasons I wanted to have this dinner is because I made the decision to not kill you. This meal is a peace offering and thank you for all you’ve done.”

Watson choked on his wine.

“Thank you,” Sherlock answered casually, starting to fill their plates.

“So… this is not poisoned?” Watson checked.

“No, Watson. I owe you. I owe you my life. Enjoy your meal.”

Still not convinced at all, Watson took a tiny a bite from the extremely tasty looking gratin. In fact none of them suddenly choked or fainted, so Watson gave in to the extraordinary taste, even if this was some deadly trick, it was one of the most delicious in his life.

 

After the even tastier dessert, the three men sat down at the fireplace.

There was a rather uncomfortable situation when Moriarty and Watson both attempted to sit down onto John’s chair. Sherlock observed the silent battle of mind’s with amusement just that to his surprise Jim was the one to give in and go with the uncomfortable client-chair.

“How is it healing,” Watson asked into the silence.

“Agonizingly slow. But I guess that’s the price for my own stupidity.”

“I wouldn’t call it stupid. I mean we don’t know what you’ve been trough. Depression is a serious illness like any other, there’s nothing you need to feel bad for. Okay, maybe being a criminal and so on, but I guess we’re all just victims to our circumstances, right? No one…”

At this point Moriarty stopped Watson’s embarrassing ramble.

“My most loyal associate tried to rape me, so I shot him and was pissed off. End of story. No sad childhood traumas or abusive uncles.”

Silence filled the room. Sherlock precisely absorbed every detail about Jim, but the more his façade came down, the less Sherlock understood anything about the man.

“He,” Watson stuttered, “like, you… and…”

Moriarty took a deep breath, how could Sherlock bear this man, he is living in slow-motion!

“Yes I’m gay, if that’s what you ask,” something in Sherlock’s stomach area tensed up, “but it’s not like I had something with this piece of dirt.”

Watson showed off his best expression of a fish reacting to this open statement.

“Oh, yes, of course and that’s fine, I mean I just didn’t know, like… Wait, so what was that the first time we met you?”

The memory of Jim from IT back then still concerned John up to this day, but now he saw him in a completely different light. Hadn’t he even given Sherlock his number back then? John’s gaze flew to Sherlock, who sat in his chair, having showed no sign of commitment to the conversation until that moment, when he said, “John please, don’t make yourself more a fool that you already did.”

Even John noticed the tense undertone in his voice. In order to escape the situation he quickly asked, “Anyone else fancy a cuppa?” and got to his feet.

“I suppose a drink would be more appropriate at the moment,” Sherlock answered, staring intensely into the fire.

“Right...”

A minute later Sherlock and John sipped on a Brandy, while Moriarty’s looks at his glass of water could kill a whole stadium.

“The actual reason why I prepared that dinner for the two of you,” he eventually started, “is that I am going to leave your hospitality tonight,” Moriarty confessed. Watson visibly did not see this change of events coming. Sherlock on the other side, who showed no sign of surprise, simply said, “no you won’t.”

“Pardon?”

“Leaving here in your condition would be your death and I. Won’t. Let. This. Happen,” a bit calmer the detective added, “not after all this effort we put into keeping you alive.”

“And that’s up to you to decide, since when?” Jim countered.

“Since you moved into my bedroom.”

“Oh, look who’s showing off some dominance. You know I like that.”

“So why not share a bed with me anymore?”

“Is that an offer?”

That was enough for John and he interrupted the flirt or battle or whatever this was, with a loud clearing of his throat.

“Moriarty, I am your doctor in charge and hereby I prescribe you physical rest and a 24 hour company in form of a doctor or consulting detective. Until I pronounce you healthy, you must not leave this apartment on your own.”

With that said Watson left for the kitchen to do the dishes or something like that, mainly to have a badass moment. Not much time had passed when Moriarty stood in the doorway behind him.

“D’you need any help?”

“No, it’s fine, you already did the cooking.“

To be honest Watson was also still kind of embarrassed about this whole situation earlier on.

“Okay.”

“Goodnight Jim.”

Both men simultaneously realized in surprise that he had called Moriarty by his first name.

“Goodnight… John.”


	11. Chapter X

Sherlock was just coming back from a rather disappointing investigation. John was at Mary’s again, this time it seemed really serious with them, and over the last few weeks Sherlock had learned to trust Jim enough to leave him alone for a short amount of time. Only this time something had gone wrong. A completely hysterical Mrs Hudson awaited Sherlock at the stairs, while loud noises emerged from his flat.

“He has completely lost his mind,” she cried out, “I already tried calling you, but none of you were answering. He must have found your gun, Sherlock!”

“Get in your flat.”

He stormed up the stairs and through the door where he was met with an interesting sight. Basically nothing was where it belonged. Books, furniture and other belongings were shattered everywhere and most of it pretty brutally damaged. In the middle of the whole chaos was a raging Moriarty, screaming from the top of his lungs, as soon as he realized it was Sherlock who had stepped through the door.

“YOU!!”

He stormed through the room. In the blink of an eye Sherlock absorbed the situation. The raging Moriarty in fact looked like he had lost his mind. His hair was messy, his face distorted into an angry mask and in his hand he held the formerly well-hidden Browning of Sherlock. He reached the conclusion that he should better not mess with a Jim Moriarty in his constant state, so Sherlock let him violently crush his body to the wall.

“Did you really think you could keep it from me?”

Oh no… Now Sherlock understood, a quick glance through the room confirmed his thought – Jim had found and cracked Sherlock’s computer, and then found his recent case. Sebastian Moran.

“Obviously not, I only feared you’d react,” Sherlock nodded towards the destroyed room, “exactly like that.”

It had been a day after Moriarty had appeared in their flat when Sherlock started looking into his organization. It was clear that someone would try to take it over and at the same time this meant the moment of chance to destroy it all had come for Sherlock. Unfortunately the whole taking-over had been going much faster and smoother than expected, for the simple reason that the right hand of Moriarty had survived his execution, hence it all fell to the smart, perfectly trained, and most of all feared Sebastian Moran.

The moment Sherlock had found out, he knew it would strike back Jim to a much darker place and after all he had been going through, Sherlock couldn’t do it until he had found and finally ended Moran. That was what had kept him too busy from minding the danger in his own home. It had only been a matter of time until Jim figured out the different stages of security Sherlock had installed for that matter.

“Jim, I’m sorry.”

Much to his surprise Jim let go of Sherlock and took a few steps back.

“AND. DO. YOU. THINK. THIS. CHANGES. ANYTHING??”

With every word Moriarty shot the wall above Sherlock’s head and then turned around, suddenly falling onto his knees. Silence. The shoulders of the suddenly tiny looking man cowering in the middle of the room started to shake slightly. Very slowly, step by step Sherlock approached and lowered himself on his knees in front of him.

For once in his life Sherlock instantly knew what to do, and he carefully wrapped his arms around Jim. As gently as possible he let his hand wander onto Jim’s which was holding the gun. He let go of it unresistingly and Sherlock put the safety on and threw it somewhere behind him, not because he was scared Jim could shoot at him again, but because he was scared Jim could hurt himself in his current state.

And then, Sherlock simply held him.

They sat like that for minutes, Sherlock’s knees were burning and his shirt soaked with tears but all this didn’t matter for that moment. What mattered was the broken man in his arms.

After a long while Jim calmed down.

“Why do you keep caring about me, Sherlock,” he whispered against his chest. Sherlock didn’t answer him, for the simple reason that he didn’t know either.

Jim pulled back and wiped his nose. He truly looked miserable.

“Sorry, for the mess and everything.”

“I’m sorry too,” Sherlock confessed. From the inside pocket of his coat he took out a tissue that he kept there for emergencies, this definitely was one, and handed it over to Jim.

“It hurts so much,” he sniffed.

“Jim, listed to me,” Sherlock took his head into his hands and lowered his face closer Jim’s, “this rat hurt and betrayed you and I will bring him down for that. But you must. not. let him do this to you. You must not let him destroy you. Listen to me, you’re brilliant. From the first moment I heard your name on, I was fascinated by you and those past weeks have shown me how much more there is to you than I could have ever imagined. Jim Moriarty, you… you’re...”

There was this tight feeling in Sherlock’s chest, he couldn’t express it but it felt like he would burst any moment. It was this goddamn maniac that did this to him, the way his dark brown eyes stared at him. Those eyes with their dilated pupils and the quick pace of breath Sherlock could feel under his hands.

Jim’s eyes flickered away from Sherlock’s for a moment. He did not understand it at first, only when Jim slowly started getting closer to Sherlock, centimetre to centimetre, Sherlock stopped breathing.

It was a soft kiss, barely a second long but it was a kiss.

Jim leaned back again, his eyes full of fear. Sherlock was not moving, neither breathing, he was completely frozen. Had Jim finally crossed a line? Did he get the signs wrong? Did he mess it all up?

“Can we do this again,” Sherlock whispered, barely audible.

More emotions than Sherlock could even name were floating over Jim’s face. Then very slowly and gently, Jim took Sherlock’s neck into his hand and pulled him towards his face again. That strange feeling in Sherlock’s chest grew larger, filling his whole body. He had no idea what he was doing, but Sherlock wanted more. He pushed his body forwards while simultaneously pulling Jim closer, so the two men’s bodies were… touching. It seemed like he had done something right, because Jim sighted and then deepened the kiss. Suddenly Sherlock felt a tickling brush against his lower lip. Out of sheer surprise and… pleasure, he opened his mouth, what Jim took as permission to enter his tongue. Jesus Christ.

From some part of Sherlock’s body, a sigh forced his way to the surface. Jim’ hands found their way into the detective’s locks and he pulled passionately, Sherlock lost it. A proper loud moan filled the living room of 221B Baker Street. Shocked about his own sound Sherlock dug his nails into Jim’s skin but in no way breaking from that exhilarating and thrilling experience.

“HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!”

As surprisingly as the situation had overcome the two men, it ended again. Sherlock shrank back, to face a completely knocked back John standing in the doorway.

Jim could have killed John that exact moment if it wasn’t for Sherlock. But he had a more serious problem. Sherlock stiffly got to his feet and Jim followed his suit.

John was still staring at the crazy scenario of two enemies that had just made out in the middle of his completely trashed flat.

“Sherlock…??”

The detective avoided looking into Johns face. Then suddenly Sherlock rushed past Jim and John with great steps, tackling his best friend quite unpleasantly. The next second he was gone.

“What was that?” John tried addressing Jim. He slowly turned around facing John now. The look on his face was enough for John to know he should better not say a single word. Quickly jumping to the side he made room in the doorway where Moriarty walked through slowly, still just in a t-shirt although it was freezing outside, he slowly and quietly walked down the stairs and disappeared through the door.

As John was standing in the deserted mess of a room he got the feeling, that he quite messed things up.


	12. Chapter XI

Moriarty was walking through the dusky streets of London. He finally was himself again, enjoying the smooth feeling of the perfectly fitting Westwood on his skin.

He had quickly stopped by at one of his secret hideouts that only Moriarty and _he_ knew of. _He_ had probably been alerted by that now, but Moriarty didn’t care. His hand tightened around the gun in his coat pocket.

There it was again, the cold feeling. It was his own personal high. His drug. The feeling Moriarty got every time he was about to kill someone. And he knew just where to find his kick.

It was a long walk but he wanted it that way. He wanted to taste the feeling, wanted to free his mind off the past weeks. All that shit they had played with him. Everyone.

He was close now, the blood in his veins rushing with revenge. That dirty imposter would regret the day he first heard the name Moriarty.

He didn’t even notice the cab braking abruptly next to him and the tall man sallying out of it, he only heard the voice. His voice.

“What do you think you are doing here?”

Moriarty slowly turned around on the spot, finding an extremely agitated looking Sherlock in front of him.

“Sorry Sherlock, I’m sick of our little game,” Moriarty politely explained, “would you be so kind and LEAVE!”

The scream at the end of the sentence did his effect. Sherlock was shocked. It wasn’t like Sherlock didn’t know Moriarty’s angry side, he only would have never thought of experiencing it again.

“Jim…” for one the mastermind had run out of words. What did he do… What was Jim saying there… what…

Moriarty groaned loudly.

“Sheeerlock. Did you really believe I felt something for you?”

His frosty laughter filled the cold air.

“You better leave now, this is going to be very _dirtyyyyy._ ”

Moriarty turned around again, knowing that he had to leave now, quickly, or never.

“Please…”

His feet stopped on their own.

“Jim… Please don’t do that. Please. My brother is willing to help us. If you do this now, the deal will be off…”

It was not just what the detective said, but also his tone, that struck Jim so deep into his bones.

“Jim, please.”

Very slowly Jim turned around. The anti-social sociopath Sherlock Holes had tears in his eyes. Whatever was left of Jim’s heart at this moment broke. Sherlock carefully crossed the distance between them.

“Jim. I think… I feel for you. I…”

Jim could no longer hold back his own tears.

“I- I thought you were gone. You l-left me, just… like th-they did.“

Jim crossed the last metre and threw himself into Sherlock’s arms.

“Shhhh… Jim, I am so so sorry. This is all so new to me, I didn’t know what to do. And then you were gone and I realized what I had done, I knew this could be the only place you would go. I am so sorry… Please, don’t leave me.”

Jim pulled away.

“I can’t.”

“W-What?”

He completely let go off Sherlock.

“I was just about to commit a murder Sherlock. We… I,” Jim had trouble holding back his tears but he had to be strong just this one last time, “It doesn’t fit. We would never work out. Go back to John.”

No. He would not get away with that, Sherlock thought. He grabbed the small man’s arms and forced Jim to look at him.

“James Moriarty, I love you. And you can do nothing to change that. I did it once and I will chase you to the end of the world again if I must.”

He pulled Jim into a kiss that Sherlock put every bit of the emotions in that he had bottled up for his entire life. When they both took a break to gasp for air, Jim breathed out, “I think I love you too.”

“That weird feeling in your chest?”

“And my whole body.”

“Your pupils are huge.”

“And your pulse feels like you’re high.”

“I sort of feel like that too.”

Jim kissed the beautiful man in front of him again.

“Me too.”

“And now?”

“I guess we need to die.”

The wicked grin that Jim loved so much, spread over Sherlock’s face.

The game was on.


End file.
